


One Night

by Katflap (Batman_in_Lingerie)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Flirting, Dialogue Heavy, Humour, Identity Porn, M/M, Song fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24041095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batman_in_Lingerie/pseuds/Katflap
Summary: Clark Kent has a massive crush on Bruce Wayne. Superman has a massive crush on Batman. There's no reason to think these two things are related. Or is there?
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 54
Kudos: 559





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! Here is what I have been working on, and unlike most of my other fics, it is not joining the WIP hell I have created for myself and is in fact finished! B) 
> 
> This fic is inspired by the song 'One Night' by Matthew Koma. You don't need to listen to it or anything, it's just a very good song. :) 
> 
> Enjoy!

_You think you're the new sexy,_

_In a white Mercedes that bends me to the grave._

_You make casual messy,_

_And all materials possess you like a slave, you're custom made._

_Don't take this swim for more than it is,_

_It's one night, one night, one night._

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Clark hadn’t expected his first assignment to be exciting, but somehow the grand ballroom where he currently stood was more of a letdown than he expected. 

The present company he found himself in didn’t help matters either. As far as the eye could see, were small collections of the Gotham elite, chatting amicably as they sipped their drinks. Clark wouldn’t have minded as much had the conversations been at least slightly interesting, but they weren’t. It was mostly whose daughter was seen with whose son, and whether such and such had as much money as they said they did. 

Clark shouldn’t complain. After all, he and Lois weren't even here for these people. They were only the set dressing that surrounded their true goal, which was to keep an eye out for the man who was hosting said event itself and hopefully get a few words with him; that man being the flirtatious business magnate himself, Bruce Wayne.

He knew a little about Wayne from the other articles the Planet had written about him before Clark had started there. He was apparently an outrageous flirt, overly generous and beyond everything else—the one prevailing thing all made sure to mention in as nice a way as possible but for now we will voice succinctly—an idiot. 

He wasn’t as bad in interviews from what Clark had heard. The general consensus was that he was a bit of an airhead, losing focus and needing a not-so-slight amount of prompting to get back on track should he get distracted. 

The idea of interviewing someone such as Bruce Wayne didn’t appeal to him at first, but the more he thought about it, the more his intrigue begrudgingly grew. For one, Bruce did a lot of charity work that Clark couldn’t help but commend. The support for Gotham’s orphanages as well as the many medical support programmes in lower income areas were provided by many of Wayne Tech’s subsidiaries, and Wayne hosted many events, such as the one tonight, in order to support these efforts. 

_So he’s a kindhearted idiot_ , Clark’s own mind provided conversationally. There were worse traits for a person, he supposed, like homicidal tendencies or, well, the list goes on. Really, not being the brightest was pretty low on the list of bad traits that existed, and in reality, Clark was somewhat thankful that _that_ was Bruce’s prevailing quirk. It should make for an interesting interview at least.

As it was his first assignment, however, he wasn’t here alone. He had support in the form of Lois Lane, who would actually be the one interviewing Bruce as Clark watched and learned. They hadn’t been here long, and already Lois was off speaking with a small gathering of people, whilst Clark was still working up the nerve to leave the bar. Even with the mind numbing guests all around, she spoke with an air of sophistication that made those she spoke to believe she too was one of them. She had the ability to get them to lower their guard, more so than they ever would with Clark and his bumbling enquiries.

Clark had never seen himself as the type to attend any sort of high society event, much less a benefit or gala. Even for work—there were other reporters who seemed better suited to dressing up and schmoozing, after all. Before this, the biggest party he had ever been to was way back in high school, where a grand total of fourteen somewhat drunk teenagers and himself were the only people present, and even then it had been verging on too wild for Clark’s tastes. 

Once he started working for the Planet, he knew his job required more than just writing articles; it was about reconnaissance, enquiring and schmoozing, and whilst he could handle the former two just fine, it was the latter that the socially awkward part of Clark wanted to steer clear of at all costs and yet couldn't as he was now contractually obligated to do so.

  
  
It was also why he was also thankful for Lois’ presence here. He didn’t know how he’d manage without her. Luckily, Perry was smart enough not to throw Clark into these waters just hoping he could swim. The editor in chief of the Daily Planet had the sense of mind to send the pair of them, even if it meant an added expense. Perhaps one day Clark would be sent to attend these events alone, or maybe Perry would see sense and keep him behind a desk. 

He knew eventually he’d have to talk to people. Lois was already doing more than her fair share, and he knew those chaste looks in his direction would turn to glares soon enough.

Eventually, even she grew tired of making small talk and drew in beside Clark, her smile slipping in favour of a quiet frown. “When is Bruce getting here so we can leave?”

Clark briefly thought he should follow Lois’ lead and talk to some of the guests near to him, maybe get their opinion on the benefit they were apparently supporting. But one look at Lois’ face told him he made the smart decision and he wasn’t going to go against it now. “Not having fun?” He said as he took a slow sip from his drink.

  
“Oh no, it’s great.” She waved down the barman, and with barely a word spoken, a glass of wine was in her hand. She leaned on the bar next to Clark and sighed. “I asked some women why they were here, and one said she’d brought a new dress and wanted to show it off.”

  
  
“What? You’re kidding. No mention of orphans?” Clark said, eyebrows high in mock disbelief.

“You’d think? But no.” She looked at Clark, her lips quirking. “And the other one? Even better. She thought the evening was to support donkey sanctuaries in Africa.” She brought her glass to her lips and drained it. “I really don't know which is worse.”

  
  
“Ah, yes, Bruce Wayne, the famous orphan. I tell you what, when I hear that name, all I think about is how much he must be an advocate for donkey rights,” Clark said with a sombre look. “Obviously, we're all idiots for thinking he would hold a gala for anything else.”

That made her smile grow. “Obviously,” she said, before turning her attention to her watch. “He should still be on time to whatever charity gala he hosts, orphan or otherwise. It's just rude to be _this_ late.”

  
  
“He has a lot on his plate, Lois.” He shrugged, stirring the straw in his drink and poking at the ice cubes. “I mean, between the orphans and donkeys, I doubt he has time for anything else.”

“Stop,” she said with a laugh, swatting Clark’s arm playfully. “If we keep talking about donkeys, I might actually mention it to him by accident.”

  
  
Clark laughed. “Now that would be great. ‘Daily Planet’s number one reporter, Lois Lane, mistakes Wayne Foundation benefit for a donkey charity’.” He looked off wistfully, gesturing into the air. “Written by Clark Kent.”

She swatted at him again. “Don't. Perry will kill both of us if we screw this up.”

“What is there to screw up?” Clark asked, taking a sip. “You talk to him, I take some notes, and then we leave. Sounds simple.”

  
  
“That’s the thing, Smallville.” She perked up noticeably when she saw the doors to the ballroom opening up and the tittering of the crowds grew quiet in anticipation. “With Bruce Wayne, things are rarely simple.”

When the doors swung open fully, Bruce entered in much the same way Clark had seen stage actors entering the stage after a performance, with a winning smile, his arms up and ready for the plethora of adulations they were sure to receive.

  
The problem was, Bruce was entering a room full of wealthy Gotham socialites and not an auditorium of screaming theatre nerds. As such, the most he got were a few raised wine glasses, and yet that was apparently all he needed to feel verified. He bowed with a grin, and when he stood back up he was already making his way through the crowd, ignoring the more austere guests in favour of a small gathering of rather beautiful women off towards the edge of the room. Clark could hear the giggles from here. 

Lois groaned. “Great. How long do you think before he gives up on them and moves on?”

Clark shrugged. “A minute, a day, a year.” He sent her a look. “I could go on.”

  
  
“Helpful,” she deadpanned.

  
  
Clark kept watch as Lois went about obtaining another glass of wine. He saw Bruce’s face repeatedly through the crowd that separated them; the billionaire was laughing and playfully returning the affections of women fawning over him. At one point, Clark thought he was going to step away, and he had his hand hovering over Lois to grab her attention, but Bruce didn't move. He instead looked over at Clark.

  
  
Almost immediately, Clark looked away, his cheeks growing hot at being caught staring. He kept his stare down for a good few more seconds, and when he chanced a look up, he hoped Bruce would be back to chatting with his small menagerie.

But he wasn't.

He was still staring at him.

Clark’s face grew redder, and despite sipping at his soda, his throat was dry. The man wasn’t smiling anymore, looking down at himself in an almost self conscious manner, and Clark felt even worse as a result. He tapped Lois on the shoulder, before he hunkered down over the bar next to her. “Lois, I think I messed up.”

“What?” She frowned. “How?”

  
  
“I was looking at Bruce, and—” he chanced a look over his shoulder, hoping he was now finally looking away, but no, he was still staring. Clark let out a frustrated sigh. “And now he won’t stop staring at us!”

Lois looked brusquely over her shoulder before huffing a laugh. “Us? No. You? Yes.” She smirked as she kept watching. “You’re right, he's totally staring you down.”

  
  
“What do I do?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice. “I didn't mean anything bad by it, I was just—”

  
  
“Clark,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but Bruce Wayne couldn't care less if you had been judging him. No, he’s staring back at you for one very specific reason.”

  
  
“And that is?”

  
  
“He thinks you're hot, dumbass.” Lois rolled her eyes, slapping him on the arm. “You look good, and he’s like a kid in a giant gala-themed candy store.” She pressed her finger into his arm. “And _you_ my friend, just so happen to be the all you can eat pick and mix that has caught his attention.” 

  
“Uh.” Clark wasn’t sure he liked the analogy. 

  
“Oh, this is perfect.” Lois laughed. “If we work this right Smallville, we can get a private interview with Wayne, and be out of here by ten.” 

He chanced another look in Bruce’s direction and saw those eyes once again on him. “Lois, when you say ‘private’ interview… What were you-”  
  


“All I am saying is if Bruce wants to take you somewhere ‘private’, go along with it.”

  
Clark’s eyes blew wide. “And then what?”

  
  
“Ask him the questions we went through earlier.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “Look, I won’t lie, he may try to get fresh with you, but you just need to be coy, never take the _prize_ off the table, but make sure you get everything you need before you let him know you’re not game.”

  
  
“Lois, I think this is—” but sure enough when he looked over again, Bruce was pulling away from the women he was with, and was— “Oh God, Lois he’s walking this way!”

  
  
“Finally! I'm going to go mingle.” She grabbed her glass and went to leave, though not before sending Clark a wink. “Remember, never take ‘it’ off the table.”

  
  
“Wait, what?” Clark balked. “But you—I—this— _Lois_!” 

“You’ll do great!” She said with a grin as she walked away.

  
  
Clark contemplated running for the door as Lois walked away and Bruce approached. Really, he was not prepared for this in any way shape or form, and Lois was a terrible colleague and friend for doing this to him. He tried to school his breathing, but the more he tried, the more he realised he was wheezing.

When Bruce reached him, his smile was back, but it was small, shy. He was stood closer than Clark was really prepared for, so with as much tact as a baby gazelle, the reporter stepped back and immediately knocked over a barstool

Bruce in all fairness didn't look put off as Clark scrambled to pick up the stool and repeatedly dropped it back on the ground due to his sweaty grip not allowing him to keep hold of the wood. Once he’d righted the stool, he stood and stared at Bruce. In the time Clark had been fumbling, the man had stepped away slightly at least, giving Clark more space before he held up his hand to him. 

“I don't believe we’ve met,” he said in a voice so smooth it was almost musical.

  
  
“Uh,” Clark said, clearing his throat. “No, I’m—” _Clark, your name is Clark, you moron._ “Kent— _Clark_ Kent, Mr—Sir. I’m a reporter with—” He wiped his hand as best as he could on his pant leg before lifting it up to Bruce, but he was sure it was still clammy and winced as they shook hands.

  
  
“The Planet,” Bruce finished for him with an eager nod. “You’re here with Ms. Lane, aren't you? She usually interviews me at these things, but I must admit, having you do it sounds like a much more appealing prospect.” His eyes were so bright, a shade of blue so crisp it was almost silver. Clark realised he was staring again and, as subtle as he could manage, he looked at the floor, then at his hands, then at the handkerchief in Bruce’s pocket, then back at the floor. Anywhere but at Bruce.

  
“Yeah?” he said for lack of anything else.

Bruce laughed. “Yes, I’ve read a few of your articles. Your work is very impressive.”

  
  
“Oh!” Clark said, chancing a smile. “Thank you. I know they’re not much, I'm still pretty new and all so...” He trailed off, groping for words. “But I’m glad you like them. Cause, you know, I mean—” Clark couldn’t help it, his train of thought was derailed. “Reading is fun,” he finished lamely. 

Dear God, Lois was going to murder him.

Bruce for the most part didn't seem perturbed by Clark’s apparent inability to speak like a normal human being. Instead, he nodded vigorously. “Oh yes, I love to read.”

  
  
“You do? That’s good. Reading. It’s very fun. As I already said.” Clark didn't need super senses to know the barmen were cringing right along with him as they stood there cleaning their glasses.

Clark tried to think of what else to say next, but Bruce had a face that unsettled him. It was too open, too nice, too attractive. The more he looked at it, the more he realised he liked it, and that was the last thing he needed tonight. Why couldn’t the billionaire have been ugly? He could have breezed through his notebook of questions and been on his way if he was ugly. As it stood, he was focusing far too intently on the dimple on Bruce’s chin. 

“Anyway,” Bruce ended up saying for him, perhaps sensing Clark was as comfortable in this situation as a polar bear was in the Sahara, “I didn't just come over here to talk about business. I was actually sort of hoping, maybe, you’d like to do something more…” He paused, the corner of his lip flicking up ever so slightly. “Fun.”

  
  
“Fun?” Clark repeated loudly. The woman ordering her drink just behind them looked at them for a moment before rolling her eyes. Clark cleared his throat, and reached for his own drink, forgot where the straw was, and promptly missed his mouth with it. Without taking a sip, he set it back down. “What exactly do you mean by that?” he said as evenly as he could manage.

Perhaps not anticipating the sheer wall of obtuseness that comprised Clark's social prowess, Bruce was suddenly at a loss. “Oh,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets, and rocking on his heels. “I was just, how shall I say—” He looked away. “Well, I was just…” Bruce was blushing, his cheeks going a delicate shade of pink. “It's just, I saw you across the room and you—” He looked at Clark briefly. “You have a very nice face, and—”

  
"Yes?" Clark prompted, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck. "I was coming on to you." 

It took a moment for Clark's mind to catch up on everything, but when it did, his mouth fell open, and despite the fact that words would have been very helpful in this situation, he found none. 

At Clark’s expression, Bruce frowned, but it was fleeting, soon replaced with a tight grin. “I must have misunderstood your—um. Never mind, you don't need to say anything else. It was nice chatting with you anyway, Clark. I’ll be on my way.” He started to walk past, and as if on instinct, Clark reached for him, gripping his arm and momentarily focusing on how firm his muscles were. 

“You have beautiful eyes.” He said so suddenly it felt like it was ripped for him.

He must have also said it very loudly, as there was now a small group of people nearby who were staring at them, Lois being amongst them. She was sighing pretty hard as she covered her face with her hand, but before Clark could dwell on that for too long, his attention was back on Bruce, on those eyes. 

“Thank you,” Bruce ended up saying, a gentle smile on those lips.

“You’re welcome,” Clark said, making a conscious effort to lower his voice. “I’m sorry, I’m not used to this. I mean, if that wasn't obvious enough already.”

  
  
Bruce let out a laugh, and his smile settled in Clark’s stomach with a flutter. Clark had to look away, lest he be completely overwhelmed by the sight. “I can see that,” Bruce said, wiping his eyes. “You looked mortified. I thought you were going to faint.”

  
  
“Hey, now,” Clark said with a small smile. “It's not every day a billionaire hits on me...”

  
  
“With a face like yours, that really surprises me.” Bruce held out his hand to the barmen and without a word being said, a glass was in his hand. “I mean it, do you model part time or…?”

“Aw, no,” Clark said, shaking his head. This time when he brought the cola to his lips, he was able to suck some down to help ease the dryness developing in his throat. “Just a reporter, and speaking of which—” He set his drink down, his memory jogged. He pulled out his notepad and gestured it towards Bruce. “I was actually hoping I could take a minute of your time.”

Bruce's eyes went between the notepad and Clark, a smirk growing as he gave a breathy laugh. “Okay… I'll answer all of your questions, I just ask for ‘one’ small favour in return.”

“Oh?” Clark looked down at his notebook, before quirking his head at Bruce. “And what's that?”

  
  
“We do it somewhere more…” Bruce's head flicked to the side and his eyes narrowed by the barest of margins. “Private.”

  
  
At the word, his eyes flicked to Lois. Clark pursed his lips. “Of course, that sounds… good.”

  
  
“Perfect!” Bruce downed the rest of his glass before setting it back on the bar. “Follow me.”

Clark stepped away from the bar, and after catching a wink from Lois, followed after Bruce, keeping up with his quick pace. He was somewhat thankful Bruce was the one in charge of finding a secluded place for them to talk; if it were up to him, he was sure they would have ended up lost. The museum was huge, with its winding corridors leading only to more corridors, as well as imposing rooms full of antiques that threatened to collide with the floor at a mere glance. 

Bruce approached a set of ornate double doors and pushed them open. Inside there were a few paintings on the walls, as well as long windows lining the outside wall, bathing the room in the soft blue light of night. Bruce didn't even bother turning on the light, and Clark wasn't inclined to do it either. The room felt like it was a world away from the party, with the sounds of it barely being heard. 

“This will do,” Bruce said as he made his way to one of the couches in the room.

  
“Are you sure we can be in here?” Clark asked, looking around at the furniture surrounding them. It was all baroque, and gold, and gave every indication that so much as looking at it was going to cost him.

Bruce waved his hand. “I'm positive. Now are you doing to sit beside me or are you going to stand over there all night?” He sent a playful smile Clark’s way, resting his arm along the back of the sofa and tapping his fingers along the cushion.

  
  
That made sense, Clark thought. He couldn’t exactly interview him all the way over here. So it was with a nod that Clark approached.

He fell onto the couch beside him, and in the time it took for him to blink, Bruce was on him.

His first instinct was to protect himself. Somehow, even with everything that had happened, _that_ was what hit Clark as the most possible reason for Bruce to be on him. Violence. Aggression. He was being attacked, and Clark would have to fend him off without it being too obvious that he could throw him across the room if he wanted to.

Very quickly that thought dissipated, mostly due to the lips that were pressing against his, and the tongue working its way into his mouth. The hand on his crotch was also a bit of a giveaway. Clark briefly wondered if he was still under attack, and if Bruce was just very new to the concept and thought that _this_ was the way it was done.

Eventually common sense overrode the part of Clark’s brain that allowed Bruce to get on top of him in the first place. He grabbed Bruce by the shoulders and shoved him back. “What are you doing?”

  
“Kissing you,” Bruce said, his eyes narrowing barely. “I thought, wait—” Bruce’s mouth fell open. “Wait, did you actually think we were going to have an interview?”  
  


Despite Lois’ warnings that this could happen, Clark doubted she anticipated Bruce moving with the speed of a striking cobra whilst Clark sat and allowed it like a lemming. “Well, yeah!'' Clark said, frowning. “For one thing my boss will kill me if I don’t ask you a few questions, and for another, you said that’s what we were gonna do!”

  
  
“I was using _innuendo_ ,” Bruce said, his disbelief evident. “I asked you if you wanted to do something more _fun_ , and then you asked for a minute of my _time_ , and then I asked to go somewhere _private_ .” He shook his head, as he huffed a breath. “Are honestly telling me your whole bumbling, oblivious reporter act is—” Bruce made a face. “ _Real_?”

“I thought you liked it,” he muttered.

  
  
“I do!” Bruce said, raising his brows. “I really do, but I suppose, I thought it was half real, half sexy ploy to get in my pants. It was like you were doing everything in your power to turn me on, and now you’re telling me you had no idea you were doing it.” Bruce closed his eyes and took a breath. “God, that’s so sexy.” 

Clark's flush grew. “Thanks, I think?”

“Okay.” Bruce nodded once, and the change in his expression was immedient. His eyes grew sharp, and when they flicked to Clark’s face, there was no hint of the mirth that was in them only moments ago. “If you want to keep going, we can, but I’m just laying it out in explicit terms that I want to do naughty things to you. Just so that we are clear.”

The phrasing wasn’t exactly pull-your-pants-down quality, and yet, Clark’s hands twitched as though they were reaching for the aforementioned garment of their own volition. “Right,” Clark said, his head bobbing continuously as he tried to come up with the rest of the sentence. “The problem with that you see, is that I am a reporter.”

  
  
“Right.”

  
  
“Sent here to interview you.”

  
“Got it.”

  
  
“And if I were to do this.” His eyes narrowed. “I would get ‘ _fired_.’”

Bruce pursed his lips. “I’m not hearing a 'no', though.”

“That's because…” That was a point. Clark could stop this by saying the word, and yet he wasn’t, his hands were now definitely on Bruce’s hips, holding him there rather than pushing him off. Again, Lois must have expected a certain level of competence to flirt with Bruce and _not_ somehow end up underneath him, and here Clark was, failing at that simple task. “I would also be open to doing the aforementioned ‘naughty’ things, but as already stated, I can’t.”

  
Despite this a smile grew on Bruce’s face until he was laughing. “Wow. You know I doubted _my_ use of the word ‘naughty’ but hearing _you_ say it made me realise how unsexy it really was. I think it killed my erection, honestly.”

  
“Maybe that's a good thing.” Clark said quietly, finally making a point to try and stand despite Bruce still being sat on top of him.

  
  
“No, wait, I was kidding.” Bruce said as he gripped Clark by the shoulders. “My erection is still definitely here.”

  
  
“Look, I appreciate—”

  
  
“Listen.” Bruce held up his hands. “I know you have ‘morals’ and ‘ethics’ but, I personally believe in the tried and true; ‘I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  
  
“So what you’re saying is, we do this and then we just…” He shrugged. “Pretend it never happened?”

He saw Bruce's expression shift, though Clark couldn’t quite determine what he was seeing. “Yes.” Was all he said.

  
  
“So to clarify, this would just be a one time thing?” 

A pause. “Yes.” 

“And then we’d do the interview?” 

“Yes.”

Clark had to think if he truly were capable of doing this. There were a multitude of issues here. Not just the obvious; ‘could get fired if this ever got out’, but the fact that after tonight it would never be spoken of again. For some reason it pricked Clark that he was just another notch on Bruce’s bed post, and after tonight he would be remembered as nothing more than that. 

He also couldn't deny the want, the fact he had Bruce Wayne was on his lap of all people, wanting Clark, even if it was just for one night. It was enough to cloud the best of judgements. 

“So…” Bruce eyed him closely. “Did you want to do this?”

  
  
This time it was Clark’s turn to nod. “Yeah.”

  
“Good, because I don't know about you but my dick is suffocating.”

Clark couldn’t help but laugh, and it helped ease the last of his trepidation. “So how do we do this? I'm sort of in uncharted waters here.”

“You’re—” Bruce’s face grew pained. “A virgin?”

  
  
“No!” Clark blurted. “I'm new to—” He gestured between the two of them and hoped it conveyed what he meant. Though he wasn't sure exactly _what_ he meant. What even was this?

  
Bruce seemed to have gotten it though, and gave him a pensive nod. “Alright, so we’ll go slow. Nothing too intense,” he said, beginning to undo his own tie.

  
  
“You, uh—” Clark swallowed thickly as more of that body came into view. First it was the slim lines of his collar bone, then it was his chest, broad and sculpted. Clark’s eyes were so absorbed by the appearance of nipples that it took a playful prod from Bruce to cause the rest of the sentence to come out. “Go intense often?” He didn't know why his voice went so high at the question, but it was as though his throat was growing tighter the more skin was revealed. He was fairly certain that seeing Bruce’s dick would cause only dogs to be able to hear him.

  
  
“Sometimes,” Bruce said with a smile as he undid the rest of the buttons of his shirt. He didn't take it off, however, letting the material fall open at the sides instead.

Clark took in the display, his eyes traveling over the skin. Across his abdomen were the faint lines of scars, but most noticeable were a few bandages around his stomach that Clark frowned at. There was a swipe of redness peeking from beneath and Clark looked up at him with wide eyes. “Your—”

  
Bruce looked down at himself and trailed his finger along the bandages. “I went rock climbing a few days ago, managed to fall on said rocks. Nothing to worry about,” he said, and the way he said it told Clark that he was not going to get any more out of him.

So, rather than probe deeper, Clark allowed himself to believe that what he was looking at were nothing more than the aftermath of some sporting accident. Even the more jagged and poorly healed ones. He had read that Bruce was somewhat of an extreme sports enthusiast, but seeing the evidence of that on his body had Clark hoping he’d give it up, lest he lose an organ from one of these ‘sports’. 

Clark moved forward, opening his own shirt. “So are we…?” _Are we what?_ Clark didn't even know what question he was asking, and yet he hoped Bruce would fill in the blanks and provide the answer.

  
  
“We’re going to go nice and slow…'' Bruce said, pressing forward and reaching for Clark, pulling open his shirt button by button. “Unless, you want hard and fast?”

  
  
Clark hadn’t thought about it. His mind provided the ever unhelpful answer of both, and that stayed there right up until Bruce’s wandering hands reached his pants. He sucked in a breath. “I don't- just—”

  
  
“Shh. I got you,” Bruce said softly, reaching for the now embarrassingly large bulge in Clark’s pants. “My, my, Mr. Kent, I had a feeling you were well endowed, but this is a delightful surprise.”

His hand kept moving, teasing Clark though the fabric. The friction of it across the rapidly heating skin did nothing to stop the slew of half sentences escaping Clark’s mouth. He bit his lip, and yet all that did was cause the sounds to move lower, erupting from the back of his throat instead. Bruce gave a soft chuckle as he reached for the zipper.

He tugged it down in what felt like a ridiculously long length of time. It was probably only a few seconds, and yet Clark wanted nothing more than to just grab that hand and force it to pull the zipper down, if only to get him back to touching him already. 

Yet he didn't do that. He just watched as Bruce opened the front of his pants and deftly worked Clark out from his boxers. Clark now had his attention torn between Bruce’s hand on him, and his face looming close by. The feeling of his hand was immeasurable, but then again, that face was something to behold. The billionaire’s lip was wedged between his teeth, and across the pale skin of his cheeks a flush pink was growing, spreading down across the front of his body, leading lower and lower. Clark’s eyes followed it until they reached Bruce’s own zipper.

The portion of Clark’s mind not completely overwhelmed by everything had him lifting his hands to the waistband of Bruce’s trousers. He tried to keep his fingers light and somewhat sensual, but that all fell out the window quickly, and before he knew it, he was tugging Bruce's pants and underwear down his thighs as badly as someone with zero hand-eye coordination might. 

Once the fabric was down his thighs, Clark just kept on staring. It felt more intimate somehow; even though both of their dicks were out, Bruce's body was more exposed, showing more of that tantalizing skin. 

Bruce didn't seem to mind that Clark was more covered, most likely he was just thankful his own dick was now free, if the way Bruce moved against him was anything to go by. He shimmied forward, and Clark didn't have time to register that he was suddenly feeling something hot and slick against his own cock, and that the only thing it could be was Bruce. He pulled his hands back, allowing Bruce to take them both in hand and squeeze them close together, his hand moving up and down slowly as he smirked down at Clark. 

“Feel good?”

  
  
Clark tried to speak, failed, and chose to nod instead. Bruce gave a knowing smile as his head fell back and his hips moved against Clark along with his hand.

Clark wished he could provide more to the arrangement. As it stood, he felt like a hunk of meat, sat stock still as Bruce did all the work. He looked across the planes of Bruce's body, at his nipples, and the urge struck him to lean forward and taste them. He could, he realised. Bruce wasn't going to throw him out, hard and half naked if he tried, surely? 

He moved forward and brought his hands to either side of Bruce. Thankfully, Clark's fears were not realised as Bruce got the message, arching his back slightly and allowing Clark to kiss across his chest, before reaching the part he was really after. His lips latched onto the skin of Bruce’s nipple, and in what he hoped was a sexy gesture, he brought his teeth to the skin and as gently, tugged at it.

Bruce sucked in a sharp breath and a few quiet words left him. Even with super hearing, Clark missed them. It didn't matter as the more his mouth moved, the more words poured forth. 

As Clark's mouth was seeing to his nipples, he kept his hands moving, trailing them up from his flanks to his back. With his eyes closed, his fingers found and focused on the divots of Bruce’s skin, how there were far more scars back here than realistically even a klutz like Bruce should have, but Clark didn't have much time to dwell on things as he felt Bruce push his chest out, and twist away. “You know milk won't come out if you keep sucking, right?” Bruce asked, with a breathy laugh.

  
  
If Clark’s face hadn’t been red before it was most definitely now. “Sorry, did it not feel good?”

  
  
“No no, it felt great, but I just want to look at your face, and I can’t do that if you’re doing that.” 

  
“My face?'' Clark's breath hitched as Bruce's grip tightened for a brief moment. “But, why?”

  
  
“I told you… I like your face.” Bruce came forward and kissed him chastely on the lips. “So just sit back and look pretty for me.”

It was somewhat of a relief to be allowed to just sit and watch, being so overwhelmed with thoughts and sensations he wasn’t used to experiencing was already leaving him too addled to function. Even when he tried to move his hips, to provide more than a warm spot for Bruce to rut up against, his mind overwhelmed him with responses and ideas, so many in fact that they all bundled together causing a buzzing of white noise in his mind that drowned out all other thoughts. 

It was again, as his mind whirled, that his hands took it upon themselves to work, moving slowly to where he and Bruce connected. 

He brought one of his hands gingerly towards their dicks, and let his index finger rub against Bruce, feeling the slick wetness on the digit as he trailed it along the surface. 

As his finger made its journey up and down Bruce’s cock, he stared, transfixed on the organ and the trail his finger took. He wasn’t really contributing much in the grand scheme of things, but Bruce would shiver as his finger found certain points on his cock and Clark considered that a win. 

It was as his finger wandered that he felt something, it was a slight bump on the skin of the shaft and when Clark looked down he could see it was a mole. So small he was sure no normal person would have noticed it, let alone felt it. It struck him not only for being there, but for the fact that aside from the scars Bruce had no other notable features. There were no freckles, no sunspots, hell, no other moles. Only this single small dot that suddenly consumed all of Clark’s brain. He pressed his finger into it, and felt the small rise of it against the pad of his finger. 

Bruce let out a bark of a cry as he arched up. Clark was still so consumed by the mole that he missed the semen hitting his chest. It was only as he felt Bruce's hand wrap solely around himself and pumped him that his attention was drawn away. His head fell back, and he watched as Bruce's composed face stared back at him, the barest of smirks on his lips.

He opened his mouth, hoping to say something sexy, but that didn't happen. Instead he gasped and came, adding more semen to the growing puddle on his stomach. 

They sat there for a while, catching their breaths. Clark for the most part used the time to compose his errant thoughts and try to get them back into some semblance of order. After a few minutes, Bruce stood and Clark watched Bruce as redressed, he didn't even realise Bruce was handing him a tissue until the man was waving it in front of his face. “You okay?”

  
  
“Yup,'' Clark said, as he reached for the tissue. It didn't do much to truly clean him, but it did help to get the majority of cum off of himself at least. “Thanks, for, uh, that.”

  
  
Bruce paused, peeking over his shoulder at Clark. “You’re welcome.”

Clark got up, and quickly went about making himself not look like he had just had sex. If Lois even suspected that something more than a flirtatious interview occurred, he’d never hear the end of it.

  
“Where’s your notebook?” Bruce asked as Clark finished giving himself a once over.

Clark frowned at the words, before realisation dawned. They hadn’t even done the interview yet. “Oh.” He reached into his front pocket. “It’s—”

Bruce grabbed it from him and flipped it open in one smooth gesture. His eyes scanned the lines of questions and then flipped over to a new page, taking the pen attached to the book, he wrote across the paper with practiced ease.

For a while, the only sound in the room was that of the pen scraping across the paper. Clark watched as those hands worked, wondering how they tasted right now. Still coated with the evidence of what else they had done in here. 

Once he finished he flipped the book closed and handed it back to Clark and gave a sharp nod. “There, all done.”  
  


“Thanks,'' Clark said earnestly. At least wouldn’t incur the joint rage of Lois and Perry for slipping away with Bruce for half an hour and not even getting an interview with him. “I, uh—”

  
  
Bruce came forward, bringing his finger to Clark’s lips. “Let's not say anything else, okay? This was just a night of…” He paused, his eyes flicking to Clark’s lips. “Self indulgence.”  
  


“Right,” Clark said, his stomach suddenly feeling tight. “Of course.”

  
  
Bruce made to move away, but his motions seemed clipped, as though he was unsure of them. In a burst of movement, his lips were on Clark once more, desperate and needy, and Clark realised he liked it. He really liked it. 

Just as soon as it was there, it was gone. Bruce was back to where he had been, staring at him with a pinched smile. “Sorry. I better get back to the party.'' He walked away, and this time there was no hesitation in his movements, he marched from the room quickly, leaving Clark alone.

Eventually the odd feeling in his gut left him, only to be replaced with a quiet melancholy that Clark could place neither the source nor reason for. He had gotten off with Bruce Wayne. Any other person in this place would have killed to have been him, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right about the whole thing.

It was only when he returned to the party, ignoring the conspiratorial grin Lois sent him and looked across the room and caught Bruce in amongst a group of women that he realised what the feeling was. 

He just didn’t want to admit it.

After all, Bruce was right. This was just a night of self indulgence. One night of pleasure, and nothing more. So why was Clark dwelling on it? 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 is here! I hope you all enjoy :D

_ And now I'll pull you in close, _

_ It's a sweet and sour high, _

_ When you promise not to try, _

_ If I promise that I'd lie, _

_ We can drink the punch for this one last time, _

_ Just one more last time. _  
  


_ \--- _

  
  
  
  


Clark liked to think he was able to put his evening with Bruce Wayne out of his mind.

It was a lie, but he liked to think it.

  
His choice of career, for instance, meant he was constantly reminded of the man. Every other day, he’d catch a glimpse of his name in a headline or article and be rocketed back to that evening—to that dark room, with Bruce pressed against him. In those moments, he’d do everything to force those thoughts out and pretend they didn’t exist.

They still did, of course, and denying their existence did little to actually get the aforementioned man out of his head. He continued to dwell on it, the words spoken, the touches shared. In the end, Clark would come to the same conclusion: the man he’d seen when they were alone was nothing like the persona Clark had expected to find that evening. He knew it must have been an act, but how much of it was real and how much had been genuine was something Clark didn’t have a definite answer for as of yet. 

_ As of yet. _ Implying that he’d get an opportunity to elaborate upon his theories. He knew it was foolish to think anything else would happen between the two of them. After all, Bruce had made it expressly clear before and after the fact that this was a one-time thing. Clark was just another notch on his bedpost, and that is how he would remain for the rest of their lives.

  
That cycle of thinking was a recurring theme for well over a year.

Clark would see Bruce’s name in the headlines, or his photo on the covers of tabloids and magazines, and he’d have to smother down a certain part of himself that entertained the idea of it going anywhere. Rinse and repeat until death. 

  
  
Well, not exactly till death. Eventually the voice did quiet down. Sadly, it wasn’t because he had gotten over Bruce.   


  
No, it was due to a newly emerging crush he'd acquired, which he was sure in the grand scheme of things was far worse than the one he had on Bruce.

  
  
His first interactions with Batman were limited to a few clipped sentences. Forming the League had been a long-sought dream of his, and getting the Batman of Gotham to join seemed like a necessity if they were truly to call themselves a bonafide ‘Justice League’. Others were easier to recruit, and whilst he had expected a certain level of difficulty from Batman, he wasn’t prepared for the emotionless wall of a man that Diana described. 

When she had flown to Gotham to meet with him, she received a hard no.

Clark on the other hand, hadn't.

  
  
He didn't know what compelled him to go ask himself. Clark was in no way better at negotiations than Diana, but some naive part of himself thought he should give it a shot and see what happened. Perhaps he could reason with him and work through any qualms he might have had. 

Clark still remembered the conversation. Mostly due to it lasting a grand total of five minutes. 

He’d found Batman on a rooftop, and descended slowly before him. Despite making his presence known, Batman continued to ignore him, perhaps in the hope that if he pretended long enough, Clark might just up and leave. 

Clark wasn’t going anywhere, and once the seconds had turned into minutes, Batman’s head snapped towards the only other man atop the roof that night. No questions were asked, only a quiet unrelenting stare that may as well have been one. 

  
“Most people in Metropolis think you’re a myth,” Clark said with a smile. “I’m glad to see you’re not.”

  
  
Batman’s head quirked to the side. “Why is that?” His voice was a rumble, modulated to some degree, but there was something in his tone that was vaguely familiar. 

  
  
“I have a proposition for you,” Clark said, lowering himself until his feet meet the ledge of the building. Despite them being so high, the wind was still, letting the gentle hum of the city below reach his ears. “I know that Wonder Woman already spoke to you about it, but I hoped to give it a shot too.”

  
  
The Bat looked away. Clark thought he might run. But he didn’t. “Your ‘ _Justice_ _League_ ’.”

Clark nodded. “I wanted to ask you again.” He stepped forward. “I know you mentioned that you work alone, but with your mind and—”

  
  
“Fine,” Batman said.

  
  
For a moment, Clark didn't know what to make of the response. He thought it must be a joke, but seeing Batman’s lips not so much as twitch told him otherwise. Nothing in his posture alluded to an attempt at deception either, and Clark faltered, his carefully planned script falling to the wayside. He had a whole list of arguments ready for a ‘no’, and he realised he was in no way prepared for a ‘yes’. 

“Fine?” He repeated.

  
  
“I’ll join your League,” Batman said, with that same offhand glibness. “But.” Those visors were trained back on Clark. “You _ all _ stay out of Gotham.” 

“I—” Clark wasn’t going to argue; the fact that he had succeeded in his mission was enough for him, and if it meant keeping himself out of a city, he wasn't going to complain. A grin slowly made its way across his face. “Thank you.”

  
  
Batman didn't add anything else and left not long after, allowing Clark to ride the high of his accomplishment as he flew back to Metropolis. 

That was the first of many interactions with the illusive man in black. Some went on for minutes, whilst others dragged on for hours. They did always end in the same way, however; with Batman walking away when he was finished with the conversation, irrespective of anyone else's thoughts on the matter.

The rest of the newly assembled League members voiced their doubts about the Bat fairly soon after his joining, some more loudly than others. Clark was the only one who seemed glad to have him. After all, he was an excellent strategist and held incredible insights into things that Clark still had trouble truly understanding to the same degree. 

  
Perhaps it was the respect he held for him that allowed them to become what any normal person might describe as ‘friends’. How and when it actually happened, Clark didn't know. It was a slow process to befriend the man, with a lot of wheedling and coercing to retrieve the snippets of information that the Bat would occasionally offer up. 

It came at a price, of course. When dealing with Batman, things were rarely simple and learning about the man was much the same. It was a careful game of tit for tat, with anything that Clark offered up about himself, being matched by Batman in turn. On and on it would go. At first, Clark presumed it was a ploy of Batman’s to try and learn more about the only League member he didn’t have a handle on as of yet

Clark was fine with it, as in a way, he was doing very much the same. The only difference being that Clark wanted to know what made Batman human, whilst the other wanted to know what made Clark a threat. Eventually the questioning grew to be less like an interrogation, and more like an actual conversation.

Which was how Clark learnt Batman liked to read, and cook, and apparently when he wasn’t ‘Batmaning’ it up, he even liked to garden. It never even crossed Clark’s mind to share these tidbits with the others. After all, it felt nice to be privy to such precious information. To know things that made Batman go from being a mysterious figure to a somewhat normal person.

The crush must have come not long after those conversations began. Learning more about the man, and being the only person allowed to refer to him as ‘B and not ‘Batman’, allowed him to form some fantasy of a life that involved seeing what he looked like underneath the armour and cowl. To know his real name and be allowed to be a part of that private life he occasionally alluded to.

Clark, however, couldn't blame the secrecy. Whilst Batman was aware of everyone's secret identities, the only two League members who could be said to still be going under the radar were Batman and Clark himself. No one knew he was actually Clark Kent. The other members of the League all took it for granted that when he said he was Kal-El of Krypton, and had no other aliases. It was somewhat of a blessing in a way. Despite their being a team, and despite the comradery they shared, he didn't want to risk his family more than necessary, and Kal-El was a safer choice than Clark Kent in that regard.

There was also something to be said about the ability to hide oneself in a new identity. Clark Kent was shy and bookish, whilst being Kal gave him a feeling of confidence he wasn’t used to experiencing. Perhaps it was due to the freedom it allowed him. Kal was an alien, and allowed to be exactly that. He didn’t have to worry about hiding his powers; he could do whatever he wanted to, and not have to worry about the impressions he made. The longer he did it, the more it felt as though Kal was no longer just an ‘act’. It was becoming part of him. 

He wondered if it was the same for Batman. With the cowl, he was a terrifying myth, but underneath it, as Clark now knew, he was just a man. Was the secret identity a simple case of keeping his work and private life separate? Or was it to define the different aspects of himself more clearly? Just like someone else he knew from Gotham, Batman hid behind a carefully constructed mask, and Clark found himself wanting to know more about him.

Which was why he relished their conversations. They spoke frequently here and there, but the truly enlightening talks only happened when neither was busy with their own affairs and were on their required stint watching the monitors. 

The conversations would always start innocently enough. Simple small talk, that Clark would do his best to develop further to try and catch further glimpses into the life Batman had begun to show him. The trick was to do so without setting off Batman’s natural reflex to deflect the questions that hit too close to home. Relationships were somewhat of a difficult topic in that regard; mentions of family or loved ones caused the same knee jerk response from Batman, namely a not-too-subtle ‘we should talk about something else.’

This time, however, Clark had either worn him down or perhaps he actually wanted to part with the information. All that mattered was once the conversation had turned to past relationships, Clark had learnt that Batman and Catwoman had spent the night together a few months ago. The initial sting he felt as a result was something he was learning to get used to receiving. After all, his and Batman's friendship was founded on the work they did together, and that was that. The part of him that was crushing on the Gotham vigilante would have to just sullenly accept that nothing else would happen.

So he ignored the pain and gave an easy smile as Batman finished recounting the event. Though recounting was perhaps too grandiose a word, truthfully the entire ‘story’ was a single sentence: “Catwoman and I had sex.”

Despite the downright laughable retelling that did little to ignite Clark’s imagination, he sat back, arms crossed, giving a wistful sigh as though he had just heard Batman recount the grandest of tales. “You and the Cat, huh? Interesting.”

“It really isn't.” Batman said, pausing his typing to look at Clark. “She was there. I was there, and then...”

  
“You had sex.”

“Yes.”

  
  
“Was this before or after she committed several crimes?”

“After.”

  
  
Clark gave a short laugh. “And did she go to jail that evening?”

“No.”

“Right.”

  
  
“It was a lapse in judgement.”

  
  
Clark sat back, bringing his feet up to the console. He wasn't doing any work, that much was obvious, so he gave up pretending to look busy and made himself comfortable. “The thing is, B, you don't strike me as someone who has lapses in judgement.”

  
  
“I am human, Kal. I'm not infallible.”

“I meant, you don't strike me as someone who does something unless they were a hundred percent certain about it.” 

Clark just couldn’t fathom the idea. The two concepts did not belong together; Batman and rashness. He imagined he was as methodical with his love life as he was with anything else, and yet, here was the man himself telling him he did questionable things with questionable motives on a regular basis. 

“So these ‘lapses in judgement.’ They happen often?” Clark muttered the question, perhaps hoping the other wouldn't hear it. The answer would hurt, he knew, and yet he wanted to know. 

  
Batman had indeed heard him, Clark could see from the way his typing paused once more. Eventually he too gave up working, sitting back and turning his chair a fraction towards Clark. “It’s something I've taken to doing. I allow myself an evening of ‘respite’ in order to keep my mind free of distractions in the long term.”   


  
Clark sat up, facing him square on and trying to get any further information from those blank visors. “Doesn't that get lonely? Not allowing yourself to get close to someone?”

  
“No.”

Clark wasn't giving up, he sat forward. “Come on, B, you can give me more than that.”

  
  
“No,” he repeated. “It doesn't.”

“Right, okay.'' Clark fell back, though he did keep his eyes firmly on Batman’s, watching him fervently. “So that's it, then? You have your one night stand and then, what? Never talk to them again? Avoid them like the plague?”

  
  
“No,'' Batman said, bringing his hands together in front of him. He looked down at them as he spoke. “I just don’t sleep with them again.”

  
  
“So, Catwoman, she’s off limits now? Never again.”

  
  
“Never again.”

  
  
“What if you’re... You know…” he rolled his hand and gestured down to his own nether regions.

“I find someone else. There have been a number of people I've been attracted to, you know.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “Male and female.”

  
  
“Oh.” Clark cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the dryness he suddenly felt there. “Really?”   


  
“Yes.”

  
  
“That's, uh—”

  
  
Despite the cowl, Clark could see the way it gave the most minor of twitches as Batman raised a brow at him. “Surprising?”

  
  
“No, not really,'' Clark mumbled, before frowning. “I mean, kinda, yes?” Something close to hope formed in his chest, before being violently ripped away by his common sense. _ Don't get your hopes up, dumbass.  _

  
Batman gave a shrug. “What’s between a person's legs is inconsequential to me.” He looked back at Clark then, his jaw setting firm. “If I like their face, that’s—” He swallowed. “That's enough for me.”   


  
That caused Clark to give a small smile. “So a nice face, huh? That's all you need to get your motor going?”    
  


A huff. “How eloquent.”

  
“I'm just saying, I feel like there is more you're not telling me.”

  
  
He turned away from him. “Maybe there is.”

  
  
“Do you…'' The first half of the sentence came so freely, yet Clark feared what would happen if he said the rest. He bit his lips together, and it was only when Batman chanced a look towards him, as though waiting for the rest, that he spoke. “Do you like my face?”

  
  
Batman let out a breath that sounded like the beginning of a word before it turned into a single cough. “That’s a loaded question,” he muttered.

  
  
“And that answer was neither yes nor no,” Clark said, that same hopeful feeling bubbling up.

“That's because...”

  
  
“Because?” Clark prompted as the other trailed off.

  
  
“Because you've asked me a loaded question.” Batman grunted, turning back to the computer and resting his hands above the keyboard as if he were about to type. His hands never ended up hitting the keys, and instead he briefly looked at Clark. “I can't answer without...”

  
  
“Without what?'' Clark asked, leaning forward again and willing him to turn away from the computer. Clark was even tempted to turn it off. It wasn’t as if they were looking at it anymore anyway.

  
  
“Regretting it,” Batman said through his teeth, his hands bunching into fists.

“Just say the truth. You can't regret the truth, B.”

  
  
Batman scoffed. “You most certainly can.”

  
  
“I’m asking you. No, I'm begging you. Please, just—”

  
  
“You are very attractive,” Batman said, whirling on him. “There, I said it.”

  
  
Despite hearing it directly from the man's mouth, all Clark could think about was that he had somehow misheard, that this was a strange fever dream that at any moment he’d wake up from. He swallowed thickly. “So you would… With me?”

  
  
“Yes,” Batman said, his voice as soft as Clark had ever heard it. “I would.”

  
  
“Why—”

  
  
“If your asking why we haven't had sex, you’re not as smart as I gave you credit for.”

  
  
“But if it's like you said, just a one-and-done thing. Why don't we just...” He waved his hand to and fro between them.

  
“You want to?” Batman asked, his confusion evident.

  
  
“Sure,” Clark said. It felt like the biggest understatement in the world, but he wasn’t going to make things even weirder by making his eagerness more apparent.

  
  
“You are aware that we would never speak of it again, correct? It would happen and that would be it.”

  
  
Clark’s eyes narrowed by a fraction. “But what if—”

  
  
“ _ No _ ,'' Batman barked in a tone he used with Hal or Barry, but never with Clark. “No  _ what ifs _ . I told you, Kal, I can't get close to people. If something were to happen—” He huffed a sharp breath. “The point is, I can't risk being compromised.”

  
  
“Intimacy is that scary to you, huh?”

  
  
“Intimacy is fine, it's the things that come attached to it that I don't want.”

  
  
“You don't want, or you won’t allow yourself to have?”

  
  
He’d struck a nerve, it seemed, as Batman's hands collided with the desk and he turned to Clark sharply. “What is with this line of questioning? If you want to do this, we can, but that's  _ it _ Kal. Nothing else can or will happen, so why are you belabouring the point?” 

“I'm just trying to understand your way of thinking.” Which wasn’t a total lie, he just wasn’t mentioning the underlying motive fueling every word coming from his mouth. “Like, I’m just saying, there could be an alternative, right? You could sleep with someone without ‘being’ with them.”

  
  
“Only an idiot would believe you could be with someone sexually and not develop some form of affection.”

  
“Okay, but surely you can hold ‘affection’ for certain people without having sex. Like close friends. When does your closeness with someone get to a point that you won’t sleep with them because you risk your feelings toppling over into something more?”

  
  
“You're very close.”

  
  
Clark’s mouth fell open. “I am?”

  
  
“If I may speak candidly, you’re so close that I worry if were to do anything, I would have to avoid you until I was able to get myself under control again lest I do something stupider than have sex with you.”

  
  
“And yet you still sound open to the idea.”

  
  
“I am.” 

“And?”

  
  
“I’d want to do it now before we can’t.”

  
  
“But we—”

  
  
“No. I mean it, Kal. I may be weak today, but in the future I won’t  _ allow _ myself to be weak.”

Clark nodded once. “Fine.”

  
  
“Fine?”

  
  
“When is our shift over?”

Batman glanced at the clock. “It was over three minutes ago.”

  
  
“Your room or mine?”

  
  
“You’re—” Batman fidgeted in his seat. “You’re serious about this?”

  
  
“If this is my one night with you?” Clark stood up sharply. “I'm taking it.”

“I want to be clear, that after tonight—”

  
  
“Okay, okay. I get it.” He started to walk away from the monitors, and Batman stood up to follow. “So, my room or yours?”

How they managed to walk past the other League members as they made their way to the sleeping quarters and not come across as anything other than two people who were definitely about to have sex, Clark would never know. He was just surprised he was able to walk with how close to jelly his legs felt. 

He fell against the door once in the safety of his room. “So,” he said, hoping to puncture the tension that he could feel pressing against his chest.

  
  
“So,” Batman said back easily. He walked over to the bed and swiped his hand across it. Clark would have let out an indignant snort if he wasn’t so tightly wound. It wasn't like it was dirty. Clark didn't sleep here. No one really did, but it was nice to have the option he supposed. If he was ever done with the extortionate prices of rent in Metropolis, he had a nice little back up ready, at least.

“So,” Clark said. Again.

Maybe it was the fact that Clark sounded more like a broken record than he really should, Batman turned to him with a huff. “If you are doubting this decision, even in the slightest, then we shouldn't be doing it.”

  
  
“I’m just—” Clark shook his head as he stepped further into the room. “This is just a lot. We went from ‘friends’ to ‘two men about to have sex’ very quickly.” 

“Yes, and we will go back to ‘friends’ once we've finished, so what exactly did you have in mind for this liaison?”

  
  
“First thing?'' Clark held up his hand, displaying his index finger. “Stop mentioning that this is a one-and-done thing.”

  
  
That caused something close to sympathy to come across his face. “I'm doing it for my benefit as much as yours.”   
  


“Right,” Clark said, rolling his eyes. “You're a destroyer of happiness, got it. Second? You—” He faltered. “Uh.”

  
  
Batman shook his head, letting out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Didn't have a second ready, did you?”

“It will come to me,” Clark shot back.

  
“Right, whilst we're waiting for that, would you like to waste more time doing nothing? Maybe we could do nothing over there for a little bit,” he said, pointing over to the far corner.

  
“ _ Now  _ you get a sense of humour?” Clark muttered. “Of course.”

Batman opened his mouth, but just as quickly snapped it shut, clearing his throat, and when he spoke this time, there was no titter of humour in his words. “On the bed or...?”

  
“Bed is fine,” Clark said as if he were answering the question of where to place his luggage, not where his bout of sex with Batman would be. The moment felt wrong, and yet if Batman were to be believed,  _ this  _ was their only chance, and he couldn't exactly waste their time hoping for something better. He sat on the edge of the bed, and looked up at Batman. “So, can we kiss or is this...?”  _ Dicks only _ , Clark nearly blurted out before snapping his mouth shut. He didn’t want to add any more unsexiness to this moment than was already present.

Batman nodded. “Yes, we can kiss.” The voice was all breath and little sound, causing a thrill to run through Clark. Any fear about not finding this arousing was quickly forgotten as Batman came forward and straddled his hips. “Is this okay?”

  
  
“You could punch me, and I'd be okay,'' Clark said in an attempt at humour, only to realise he didn't laugh or smile as he said it, giving the impression of someone who was one hundred percent earnest. He was, but somehow realising as much was a tad disconcerting. “That—uh.” He shook his head. “That sounded…”

And then Clark heard a sound. It was so foreign of a noise coming from the man in front of him that he doubted he had even heard it at first; it felt more feasible to think that it was some strange hallucination, along with everything else that was happening this evening. But it wasn't, he was certain of it.

Batman laughed.

But it wasn't bitter or sarcastic, it was a soft chuckle that had Clark falling harder than he was prepared for, and he had to take a breath to steady himself for whatever was to come next. “I liked it,” he said softly.

_ Great, _ Clark thought, _ he liked me being an idiot, who else will like that? Why do you only fall for the unobtainable, you complete moron?  _ He swallowed and tried a smile. Out loud, he said, “Good to hear. I have plenty more where that came from.”

  
  
“I'm sure you do,” Batman muttered quietly as he came forward, and this time let his lips graze against Clark’s.

The moment it happened, it settled in Clark’s stomach like an ache. This was a bad idea. He was in too deep, he’d barely left the shallow end of this endeavour, and he was already drowning. Swallowed whole by the man before him and after tonight, that would be it. He would be left stranded in the water, hoping in vain that something, anything would come by, but it wouldn't, he would be left to drown.

It didn't help that Batman’s lips were soft as he kissed him. There was no vicious clashing of mouths; it was sweet, tender even, and it did everything to lull Clark deeper still. If he closed his eyes, he could almost convince himself this was something else entirely, not a chaste fuck between two men who would never mention it again, but something more intimate.

Batman reached for his crotch, his hand cupping his front. He pulled back with a smirk. “Your shorts leave little to the imagination, just so you’re aware.”

The tone, the touch, even the words had Clark’s mind clouded with the feeling of deja vu, and it took him a moment to shake it off. “Everything you hoped for?” He ended up asking.

“I’ll let you know when I see it in all its glory.” He went to pull them down, and when he was unable to get them fully off, Clark got up and eased them down the rest of the way.

The Bat stayed crouched in front of him. Something in his expression changed, and he came forward, peppering kisses on his cock. Clark let out a shaky breath as he watched, unable to move even if he had wanted to.

Batman didn’t stay down there long, swiping his tongue from his base to his tip before sending Clark a smile that could only be described as playful. He stood up, and though he tried to hide it by half turning from Clark, his hands shook as he took off his gauntlets and began to get his own cock out. 

He managed it quicker than Clark would have been able to. He'd seen the safety precautions on the batsuit, and Clark didn’t want to know what the ones surrounding his crotch were like. He had hoped that the cowl would come off too, but as he was already experiencing one miracle tonight, it seemed greedy to hope for another. 

Once the pants were down, Batman came back to Clark, straddling over his hips once more, bringing their cocks together.

That same creeping sense of deja vu hit him, and Clark tried to focus on the here and now. He shook the thought out of his mind and brought his own hand to join Batman’s, grazing along the skin of his cock and feeling every vein and—

“Um.” Clark uttered as he looked down at Batman. He had done it to anchor himself to the here and now, to see the kevlar and entirely different man's cock, but instead, as he stared at their exposed flesh rubbing against one another, the thing he thought he had felt stood out to him above everything else.

He thought he must have been mistaken, but no, there it was, the small feature on Batman’s cock that enveloped him so completely that the hand on him was now a distant echo

A mole.

The same mole he’d seen before.

“Oh my  _ God _ ,” he whispered as Batman nibbled his ear. “ _ Bruce _ ?”

Immediately the man above him stilled. It was so complete, Clark worried if he breathed too hard he may topple over. He slowly pulled away, and Clark saw those visors narrow dangerously, along with the growing redness appearing on the little patch of skin on show. 

“What did you call me?” Batman demanded, his voice doing a better job of keeping itself together than the rest of his body.

  
“It’s just—” He swallowed. “You have a mole,” Clark said simply, raising a shaky hand to the part of Batman in question. Right on his shaft. That tiny speck. “Just like Bruce.”

  
  
Batman composed himself rather quickly. He squared his shoulders, as though defiant to what Clark now saw as a certain truth. “When exactly did you see Bruce Wayne’s penis?”   
  


Clark raised a brow. “When did I say it was Bruce  _ Wayne’s _ ?”

  
  
Batman’s mouth fell open, and Clark didn't need to see through the visor to see the mind behind it working furiously to come up with a response. The seconds ticked by and before long, Clark couldn't bear to see the thinly veiled panic anymore. He looked away, shaking his head. 

“Anyway,  _ I _ didn't see it.” He chanced a look back up, and what came out of his mouth next felt like it was beyond his control. “But Clark Kent did.”

  
  
Those visors blew wide. “You—” Clark didn't know what he expected, but seeing Batman roughly pulling off his cowl and revealing the very angry face of Bruce Wayne was a surreal experience. “Oh my  _ God _ .”

“That’s what I said!” Clark said with a small huff of laughter.

“ _ You’re _ Clark Kent.” 

“And  _ you’re  _ Bruce Wayne.” 

Bruce lept from him like he had been burned. “Oh God, no no no...”

  
“What do you mean ‘no’?” Clark asked, jumping up too, as though the bed was the cause for his sudden negativity. “What's wrong? If anything this is amazing, we’ve already—” Clark’s mouth snapped shut as realization dawned. “ _ Oh _ .”

  
  
“I knew this was a bad idea...” Bruce brought his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes so hard it looked like it must have hurt. “I  _ knew _ it was, and I—” 

“You wouldn't be saying that if I was  _ just _ Kal-El.”

  
  
“Yes, well you aren't. Just like I'm not  _ just _ Batman.” He brought his hands down, though his firsts reminded clenched tight. “We can't do this.”

  
  
“But—” Clark looked down at himself. “That's not fair.”

Bruce's face was stoic as he turned to him, and yet, Clark could see the anger flair. “I don't really care about what’s  _ fair, _ Kal.”

  
  
He let out a breath that deflated his whole body, and seeing as Batman was one of the most stubborn human beings Clark knew, he was aware this battle was lost, so he turned from him and walked towards his discarded pants. “You can call me Clark now, if you want. I'm more used to it, but I mean, it’s up to you…” He trailed off as he went about pulling his pants up, it hurt like a bitch trying to coax his still erect dick back inside, but one look at Bruce's expression told him that he meant it.

“I still can't believe it,” Bruce said, as he paced to and fro. “You—you're—this is just the universe fucking with me.”

  
  
“Hey, you and me both. I thought I'd gotten over Bruce, then bam, turns out you're the same person.” Clark only realised what he’d said the moment after he’d said it. He grimaced.

  
“You—” Bruce stopped his pacing. “What do you mean by that?”

  
  
“Nothing.” Clark said his grimace growing. “What do you want to do for dinner? I'm starving.”

  
  
But Bruce matched forward, keeping Clark there with nothing more than those fierce eyes. “What did you say?”   
  


Clark’s mouth bobbed open as his mind ran through its repertoire of excuses, but the longer he remained quiet, the more Bruce’s frown grew, so with an exasperated sigh, Clark spoke. “Fine! If it wasn't  _ obvious _ , I fell for Bruce Wayne pretty hard, and just when I thought I was getting over him in favour of an even more impossible person, I find out they’re one in the same, so yeah! I think the universe is crapping on me just as much as you.”

  
  
“I—” Bruce's mouth fell open, his expression softened. “I—”

  
  
“What?” Clark closed his eyes, giving a sad huff of a laugh. “Wanna tell me I'm an idiot? Go on, it's nothing I don't already know” 

  
“I feel the same,” Bruce muttered.

“You—” Clark frowned in confusion. “What?”

  
  
“When I saw you at the gala. I—” Bruce’s voice came out in a whisper, his hands going back to Clark. “I don't make a point of kissing reporters, but when I saw your face I just—” Bruce shook his head. “I just couldn't keep away. Then when I got you, I knew I'd do something even stupider if I stuck around. I tried to push you from my mind, and then I met—” He laughed. “You. Superman. With a face so beautiful I couldn't stop myself from wanting to be near it.”

  
  
“Is…” Clark began, chancing a look up at him. “Is that why you agreed to join the League?”

  
  
Bruce smiled. “When Diana asked me, it was easy to say no, and I did mean it when I said it. I didn’t want to join. I told myself I work better alone, and that was that. But when  _ you _ asked me.” he shook his head. “I was weak. You reminded me of Clark, which, of course, now makes perfect sense, all things considered.” Bruce gestured towards his face.

“I mean, _ I  _ don’t see the resemblance, but...”

Bruce laughed again, and without the cowl Clark was able to see it in its full glory. “Right, of course. You barely look alike, what was I thinking?” he muttered as he rolled his eyes. “So to clarify, when I saw you, a man who looked nothing like Clark Kent, I realised I was in deep, but I told myself it was okay, as you weren’t the same person. You were new. Different. So I could allow myself to grow close to you without…”

  
  
“Toppling over.”   


  
“Right.” Bruce gave a bitter laugh. “So you can imagine my annoyance when I thought I got you out of my mind, only for you to tell me that Superman, the so-called Man of Steel, is the same man who couldn't even make eye contact with me when I hit on him.”

Clark smiled. “I do have many layers.” He brought his own hands up to gently grasp Bruce's. “Just like someone else I know.”

  
  
“You—” Bruce smiled back, but it quickly went away as he pulled away. “No, this is a mistake.”

  
  
“Why?'' Clark asked, trying to follow him, but stopped when he saw Bruce back away further. The last thing he needed was to repel him out of the room. “Look, I wanted to ask you earlier, but why can't it work? Us, I mean.”

  
  
“I told you,'' Bruce said, his voice quaking. “I can't be compromised.”

  
  
“I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you already are.” Clark eased his right foot forward, and when Bruce didn't move, he moved it further still. “You think about me, and there is nothing wrong with that. Affection, want, desire—they're all part of being a person, so why rob yourself of that pleasure because of some misguided sense of self-control?” 

“Because, if I have to choose between the greater good and someone I cared about, I worry—” Bruce closed his eyes, his jaw tensing. “I worry I wouldn't do the right thing.”

  
  
Clark could sympathise. Choosing the moral high ground wasn't always the easiest path to take, but he couldn’t imagine robbing himself of something as fundamental to living as love for the greater good. “So that’s it, then? You won't let yourself get close to someone because when push comes to shove, you’re worried your humanity will prevail?” 

“Yes.”   


  
Clark pressed his lips together. “Well it's a good thing I’m an alien then. Bulletproof as well, might I add. Aside from a deadly allergy to kryptonite, I would say I'll rarely be a damsel in need of saving.”

“Wait.” Bruce turned to him, fighting back a smile. “Are you...  _ selling _ yourself to me?”

  
  
Clark crossed his arms and gave a sharp nod. “I sure am. How else will I get you, huh?” He then brought his hands up, using one hand to count the fingers on the other. “Right, so first thing, like I said, I'm damn near invincible, so you don't need to worry about choosing between me and the mission. Hell, if it ever came to that, i’d  _ make _ you make the right decision. Two, if we don’t do this, all we’re doing is compromising ourselves instead of taking control of the issue. Three, I am a great cook and know how to make the best pancakes you will  _ ever _ have. Four—”

  
  
Four never came, because Bruce was very suddenly on his lips, as well as, well, everywhere. Clark felt as though he couldn't move without feeling Bruce's touch somewhere on him. “But, what about—” he managed to say through the onslaught. 

  
  
“Shh. You sold me on it. I'm taking you. All of you.” 

  
  
“Oh?” Clark grinned, as Bruce moved onto kissing his neck. “Was it the pancakes?”   
  
  


\---

  
  


Later, as Clark felt himself coming down, he tried to take stock of everything as a way to get back in control of his mental facilities. 

He was still breathing, that was good. His heart was hammering, sure, but it was slowing down considerably. No furniture was broken, not that he was worried it would be. It had more to do with his brain being so addled it had him staring at the chair beside him for a solid minute, before moving onto the dresser and doing the same. 

Eventually, he managed to stop staring at the furniture and looked over to Bruce, who was slumped beside him, his face half-buried in the pillow. He wasn’t asleep; Clark could see one of his eyes, half lidded and staring at the pillow. The pillow was also fine, his mind supplemented uselessly. “You okay?” he asked, turning onto his side.

Bruce's eye went to him, but Clark could tell his vision was not in focus from how it was squinting at him. “My back hurts,” he mumbled into the pillow.

  
  
Clark huffed a laugh. “Aww, does someone need a massage?”

  
“Is that another of the services you offer?” Bruce asked, making a pronounced effort to lie flat on his front and bring his arms under the pillow to support his head.

“Oh, yeah.” Clark reached for the lube, and put a little on his palm, warming it up before placing his hands on the small of Bruce’s back and slowly rubbing it around. “That is an excellent point. I never did finish my list, did I?”

  
  
“No,” Bruce said with a breathy laugh. “And I need to know what exactly I'm getting before I make my decision on whether or not I should keep you.”

  
  
Clark blew a raspberry. “Uh, you’ve already  _ got _ me. And I’m unreturnable. You should have read the terms and conditions, Bruce. It’s right there at the top. ‘Once dick enters butt, Clark is your property; no take backsies’.”

  
  
Despite not hearing any noise, the way Bruce shook beneath him showed he was laughing into the pillow. After a minute, it stopped and he turned his face back to the side. “So I can't return you?” Bruce murmured. “Not even for store credit?”

  
  
Clark pressed in deep to the knot of muscles he felt in his flank and could see how Bruce practically melted under him as a result. He smiled. “You can exchange me if you want. Turn me in for the Green Lantern model.”

  
  
Bruce tensed up at the words. “I've never felt so violated by a thought.”

  
“What? Naked Hal not doing it for you?”

  
  
“Please stop.”   


  
Clark didn’t stop. “What about Hal, naked, and crooning that he loves you  _ so  _ much and wants to lather you with kisses?”

  
  
“Clark, please, I beg you. I'll keep you, I promise.”

  
  
He couldn't help but smile as he leant in close, kissing Bruce's neck as he stroked the skin of his back. “Yeah? You mean that?”   
  


There was silence for a moment, and eventually Clark realised Bruce was trying to turn around underneath him. He sat up on his knees, allowing him to turn. Bruce’s lips were pressed together as he looked at the ceiling behind Clark, before those eyes flicked to him. “Yes.”

  
  
“Good.” Clark beamed. “‘Cause i’m not leaving.”

  
  
“I—” Bruce bit his lip. “Thank you.”

  
  
He quirked his head, huffing a small laugh. “Why are you thanking me, B?”

“For convincing me to do this.”   
  


“Don't thank me for that yet.'' Clark came in close, placing a kiss on Bruce’s nose. “See, I didn't even mention the list of reasons why I'm a  _ terrible _ partner.” Clark cleared his throat as he held up his index finger once more. “One, I steal the covers like no one's business. Seriously, unless you have a vise grip on it, it's coming with me. Two—” 

Bruce reached for him, pulling him down to his lips, and stopping any more words from coming forth.   


  
Afterwards, Clark collapsed onto the bed beside Bruce, trailing his hand across his stomach, a grin firmly on his face. “So you’re really not gonna ‘exchange’ me?”   
  


“Well…” Bruce turned to him, his lips quirking. “Not if you make me dinner.”

Walking to the kitchen with a literal skip in his step had Barry and Hal sending him some strange looks. He received some more as he started to make pancakes, and even more as he plated up two stacks and walked back to his room, but it was all worth it when he opened the door, and presented the plate to Bruce, and after he took his first bite, heard the quiet murmur of appreciation that these were in fact the best pancakes he had ever tasted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a lot of fun to write. Writing Clark and Bruce's banter is one of my favourite things to do and whilst I have a few personal favs in this fic, ‘Once dick enters butt, Clark is your property; no take backsies’ is probs the one I love the most XD 
> 
> Thanks again to [Cattyk8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattyk8/pseuds/cattyk8) for betaing :3 
> 
> As always, let me know what you guys thought! and I'll see y'all next time! :D

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed part 1. :D
> 
> I also want to give a huge thank you to [Cattyk8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattyk8/pseuds/cattyk8) for being my first ever beta! If this reads better than my usual work, it is wholly down to her and her awesomness. :3
> 
> Stay tuned for part 2. Until next time B)


End file.
